


meme it

by agent_florida



Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: M/M, Ten Songs Meme, man the fandom really fucked up these tags
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-11-20
Updated: 2009-11-20
Packaged: 2018-01-15 22:57:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 2,692
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1322380
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/agent_florida/pseuds/agent_florida
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>1. Pick a character, fandom, pairing, friendship, whatever.</p><p>2. Put on your music program on shuffle/random and start playing songs.</p><p>3. For each song, write something inspired by the song related to the theme you chose earlier. You only have the song length. No pre-planning and no writing after the song is over. No skipping songs either.</p><p>4. Do 10 songs and post. Make sure to include the song name/artist.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Still - Foo Fighters

**Author's Note:**

> this is my first published fanfiction ever oh my god this is so embarrassing

It was nice, when night finally fell for the first time in three years in Blood Gulch. Sarge had gone out into the moonlight to do something that he described as ‘tinkering with Lopez’s parts’, but Grif and Simmons knew what that really meant. Donut had snuck off to the caves for some reason, and with the help of his bionic eye, Simmons could see that he was meeting with the Blue that was still in his regulation armor. Oh, it was too cute. The rookies were getting together.  
  
For their part, Grif and Simmons were sharing a case of beer on the cliffs, overlooking the rest of the valley. The night was beautiful, every blade of grass lit up silver by the moonlight, every dirt path looking like a river of mercury. “It’s so beautiful,” Grif said, surprisingly touched by the sight.  
  
“Everything’s so still,” he said. “Night kinda makes you miss home, doesn’t it?”  
  
“Yeah. I miss the girls,” Grif said. “The touching, you know,” he explained to Simmons’s look.  
  
“You could still do some of that stuff here,” the cyborg man said, slugging back the remains of his fourth beer.  
  
“What are you saying?” Grif asked, turning towards him.  
  
“Promise not to say another word,” Simmons whispered as he leaned closer to his teammate’s face. He could see a blush creeping up under the tanned Hawaiian skin, and he couldn’t help leaning in to kiss his lips. What’s done is done, he thought to himself, latching on, hoping that the other man would respond.  
  
“Always was a lucky one,” Grif mumbled against his mouth. “Good kisser.”  
  
“You don’t even know,” Simmons chuckled evilly as he pulled Grif closer.


	2. Apply Some Pressure - Maximo Park

Thinking back on it, Wash was feeling a little guilty that he had thrown the E.M.P (emp, the little voice in the back of his head that sounded like Church reminded him) once Agent Maine had been in the room. He supposed it had been a reflex, really; was it his fault that the only thing that would keep the Meta from killing him would also destroy the man he had come to know so well over the past few minutes?  
  
He had lost everything that day. When Church had entered inside him, penetrating his brain, he couldn’t help but give up to him, let him fill the holes that Epsilon had left behind, the little bit of extra pressure on the inside of his skull. The presence was oddly comforting, and with a spark of recognition Wash knew. This was what he had been missing. This was what had disoriented him so much about Epsilon’s suicide.  
  
He needed someone else there, and he had destroyed it. He had told Church to leave him and enter the Meta, and then he had thrown the switch. And now he didn’t know if he would still be alive to encounter him again.  
  
But what had happened when he had lost everything? He had just started again, started all over again. And now that it had happened twice, he knew he could move on, it would just… not feel the same.


	3. Super Freak - Rick James

Donut just couldn’t help it; he loved to sing in the shower. He would lather himself up, using the loofah as a microphone, and yell into it to his heart’s content.  
  
Could the other guys in the base hear him? Probably, but they had never said anything about it. “Super freak! Super freak, she’s super freaky,” he shouted at nothing in particular, dancing a little against the slippery tile floor.  
  
Turning off the water and toweling himself off, he was embarrassed to see someone else heading in, his face as deep maroon as his towel with embarrassment. “Sorry, Simmons,” he said, only sounding half-apologetic.  
  
Simmons only grumbled something in response as he dropped his towel to go into the shower. And though he tried to suppress it, Donut couldn’t help the pucker of his lips or the whistle that came out from between them.  
  
“You know, if you’re going to admire the view, you might as well do it right,” Simmons complained as he turned the water on.  
  
“Super freak, super freak,” Donut still sang quietly to himself, patting his hair down as he looked into the mirror. And then he saw that Simmons had left the shower door open and nothing but steam and water was covering his body.  
  
“I know I am, but what are you?” his teammate shot back. “Never had shower sex, I bet.”  
  
And Donut knew an open invitation when he saw one.


	4. Positive Tension - Bloc Party

The tension was crackling across his skin, and he didn’t know how to feel as the moaning started in Church’s throat, but his heartbeat was thrumming in his chest and his cock was telling him everything as so, so good.  
  
Truth be told, a man’s mouth down there didn’t feel so totally different from a girl’s. He had had so many of these over the years from so many different people that he could hardly tell the differences between them any more, just the similarities. The down and up bobbing motion, the slurping and sucking sounds, the wetness and warmth around him.  
  
It was almost boring after a while, but he didn’t know how to tell Church that. He didn’t know what else he wanted, but this wasn’t it. The fear and the yearning inside of him was going to eat him alive, and so instead of telling Church to stop he just grabbed his hair, feeling its softness.  
  
And then Church was pulling off of him in response to his fingers, and he was crawling up the length of his body, and he was leaving a sticky trail of kisses behind him as he pushed Tucker’s legs up into the air, and Tucker thought his heart was going to explode with terror and his body was going to give out with uselessness when Church pressed against him.  
  
Play it cool, boy, he reminded himself. Play it cool. And he didn’t even groan as Church pressed himself inside.


	5. You're Supposed to Be My Friend - 1990s

Grif and Simmons were sitting on opposite ends of the couch, definitely not looking at each other. Grif was channel-surfing, Simmons was buried in a novel.  
  
“You know, you’re supposed to be my friend,” Grif said, frustrated with how Simmons would ignore him.  
  
“Well, we’re supposed to get along,” Simmons pointed out, disgruntled himself.  
  
They both turned back to their pursuits. “You don’t think you could put your book down for two seconds?” Grif wheedled.  
  
“Don’t feed me the same lines you give to the ladies,” the other man said, deliberately turning the page in his book.  
  
“Well, you’re supposed to be my friend. Start acting like it!”  
  
“That’s it,” Simmons said, throwing aside his book and crawling up beside Grif.  
  
The kisses started on his neck, making him feel the heartbeat in his chest and the ringing in his ears, and then there was a hand playing on his neck, up and down his side. And that mouth, that sweet mouth, was on him again, tasting like toothpaste, and Grif shoved his cigarettes-and-cookies tongue into the nerd’s mouth, trying to teach him a lesson.  
  
“I don’t want to be your friend,” Simmons said as he pulled back from the kiss. “Not just your friend.” He pulled off his glasses and left them on the table.  
  
“But you’re supposed to be…” And it got swallowed in a gasp as the kissing started again.


	6. We Looked Like Giants - Death Cab for Cutie

It was so quiet in the base that day, the air thrumming with forbidden energy, but Wash had received the note he had been expecting from York. Meet me there, it said.  
  
It wasn’t ever glamorous, fucking in the back seat of his car, but it was the only place they really had. The dew on the windows, fogging up from the heat inside the car and the cold outside, could hide the two little struggling forms and muffle the cries coming from inside.  
  
Wash hadn’t given two thoughts to how his body mechanics had worked until he had seen York. And then all the foul temptations he had always suppressed had come out to play, and he hated himself with every second of being with York, hated himself from losing sleep to the multiple car rendezvous and from the inevitable wondering that would follow afterwards.  
  
What was the worst part about it was the way York would hold on to him afterwards, hold on to him like this was the closest anyone was going to get to him. He swore that afterwards, everyone would be able to smell the sex on him, smell the bad thoughts that he was carrying around, and even if they didn’t, they would still know. Wash had always been horrible with secrets, and being kept as York’s was wearing on him.  
  
So instead, he disappeared into himself, not daring to display any emotion while anyone else was around. He spent his days at the firing range, testing out every pistol the project had to offer him, preferring burnt gunpowder to the clean smell of spring outside, the smell that York was somehow able to carry on him.  
  
It only took the third bullet today to shatter the supposedly bullet-proof glass, and Wash wondered to himself if he was really cracking so easily. The exterior he had built up for himself had been taken down. He supposed he should be proud of himself; it had taken an infiltration specialist to break into his best-kept secrets. But the weight was so heavy, and the long days of spring sunlight that passed between those spots of night couldn’t air out the rot he felt growing inside of himself.


	7. Every Breath You Take - The Police

Church couldn’t help it. Even though he couldn’t aim that damn sniper rifle, he could still use it for something, and every day now, he was using it to spy on the Red’s base.  
  
It was always the yellow one who looked the most intriguing. He smoked, just like Church did, and Church found himself trying to figure out the sights in order to see the brand on the carton that the other man was holding. His lighter was even the same kind as Church’s, and he flicked it back and forth between his fingers the same way Tucker said annoyed the shit out of him.  
  
Church reached into his own pocket and flicked it a few times. It was so reassuring; he had never understood why Tucker had made him feel bad about it. But maybe, if he could get to Red base, he could get the yellow one to reassure Tucker that it was a perfectly normal thing to do.  
  
No way, he reminded himself. He would just have to sit here, watching. His chest felt heavy with each move he saw the yellow soldier make, even though he was lazy and didn’t make very many, and when he could hear the shouted arguments through the canyon he could pull out which one was the yellow one. Unbelievable. Was he him? They had the same mannerisms, the same habits.  
  
But he couldn’t go to him, couldn’t get to know him better, couldn’t light his cigarettes, couldn’t taste his ash breath. So he would just watch him, from the top of Blue base, across the canyon, every day.


	8. Handlebars - Flobots

It was a strange, prickling feeling for the first few weeks, but the medic was almost getting used to having that floating voice in the back of his head. Even though they both thought totally differently, it was still somehow like having a- a friend with him, someone who knew him inside out.  
  
It was almost the same feeling he had had a child when he tried to ride his bike without using the handlebars. He hadn’t known how to steer for so long, but eventually everything came together and he could balance just fine.  
  
It was the worst, though, when he tried to read and get some quiet for himself. “I can make people do whatever I want,” O’Malley would cackle to himself. “I can lead a nation of people with just my voice. Muahahaha! I can make them live or die with just a word! Mostly dying, though, if I want to control the universe.”  
  
“You had better not do anything else to interrupt me,” the medic said, turning the page of his book and adjusting his glasses on his nose.  
  
“Ooh, just being in this body feels so good,” the AI said from the back of his hand, and the medic could feel a strange wave of malevolence taking over his body. He had never felt so deliciously evil in his entire life, and it was… what?  
  
O’Malley had taken the left hand from the cover of his novel and had moved it down to the suspicious bulge in the medic’s fatigues. “What is this?”  
  
And the bike was careening out of control, the balance totally lost, when the medic tried to push him away and failed.


	9. Strange and Beautiful - Aqualung

York wasn’t used to having doors closed on him. He was a professional lockpick, and when anything refused to be opened he would just come back and try again.  
  
He had been in most of the restricted parts of the base so far, enjoying the strange views that they would give him over other parts of the building. He would see the secret trysts that people would try to hide from them, see the girls out of their armor, see the guys busy with their hands, but none of it was exciting enough to him.  
  
No, what was intriguing was the one closed door that he still hadn’t been able to open.  
  
The room belonged to the man everyone knew just as Agent Washington. He hadn’t been forthcoming about his real name, or about where he came from, or really anything at all. Just about the only thing York knew about him was the way he looked. Early thirties, maybe. An aged late twenties at the youngest. He already had grey at his temples, but it made him look rugged instead of old. His body was well-formed, able to twist and turn in complicated manouevers out on the field, and York was always hypnotized watching him.  
  
He wanted to know more, but there was always that closed door. Every night he tried it again, even going so far as to reverse the peephole so that he could look into the room. Unlike everyone else in the base, though, who were shacking up or shagging one another senseless, Wash just… slept. He slept through the night.  
  
York couldn’t get enough; it was a restful feeling when he himself couldn’t rest from curiosity. But he just wanted Wash to wake up, let him in, and realize what York saw in him.


	10. My Eyes - Doctor Horrible Soundtrack

Church was having one of the worst days ever. Not only had he missed all of his sniper fire at Caboose’s sudden visit, but he was now completely out of ammo. It was pissing him off, was what. He had counted on never seeing that annoying fucking teamkiller ever again, and though he had threatened to kill him, he hadn’t even been able to do that. His bile was rising, but he had to let Caboose and that other guy into the base.  
  
For his part, Caboose was ecstatic. Here he was, with his bestest best friend again! Oh, they were going to get to know one another better. Maybe Church would know how to put out all of the sudden fires in the base. Or would know what to do when the parts of his body he didn’t know much about would spring up in awkward ways. But it didn’t matter. His bestest best friend was letting him into his base!  
  
Wash couldn’t believe how the two Blues were interacting with each other. Even though Church was more abrasive than normal, he could tell that the light blue exterior was cracking with every moment around Caboose, and not erupting into anger as much as usual. Caboose even seemed more put together than usual. And their bickering was almost… cute. It was plain to see that something between them was on the rise.


End file.
